


in search of balance

by politely_ironic



Series: Stranger Things Have Happened [3]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, F/M, Internalized Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-05
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-03-21 07:27:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3683367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/politely_ironic/pseuds/politely_ironic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are things that Jean knows for sure; what he is going to do is not one of them. All he knows is that things will not end like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. coming to terms

When Jean wakes up, dim sunlight is filtering into his bedroom through the basement window. Instinctively, he covers his face with his arm. He feels like complete shit, though he's not absolutely sure why that is, for at least a minute. Stuck in the hazy place between asleep and awake, he simply lays there, contemplating the blooming headache that infects his whole body with lethargy. The insides of his eyelids are dark, little spots flashing. Immediately, his mind travels to the previous night. Only after the pain in his head subsides, of course. Something is undeniably different, and it couldn't have possibly happened in one night. More than likely, it has progressed silently, unaddressed by both of them. Jean simply never noticed, since he tends to disregard the issue as unimportant. Marco, on the other hand, probably recognized the issue, but was complacent enough to simply avoid it for as long as possible. He was probably thinking of Jean, over himself. Empathetic to a fault, as always. Maybe even selfishly so, but Jean really isn't capable enough to delve into that.

There has to have been signs, Jean reasons. He’s positive, but he can’t think of any. None that he noted, consciously or subconsciously otherwise. Nothing out of the ordinary, besides the obvious. Probably because guys are different than girls, which is all he's had to deal with up to now. Even if he gets a kick out of mocking the fairer sex, they're probably all better at him than this. More able to figure out the complexities of boys, anyhow. Then again, he can't be sure. He tries desperately to find something, anything. He's combing through his memory purposefully, trying to view them through the lens of romance and tension. It doesn't really fit. Everything is tinged with desperation and blurred with age. He can't say that it does much good. He wishes he could simply point out when and where it began, for Marco. It makes him feel the slightest bit worthless, that he can't. Like he really doesn't know Marco well enough to pick up on something of that nature. Briefly, he rubs his face in the crook of his arms before moving it, head pulsing dully in protest. He glances down onto the floor, unsurprised that there is only a neatly folded blanket, over a pillow. Typical Marco. Jean doesn't have to look far for confirmation. There's a receipt on his nightstand, with familiar scrawl on the back. He was clearly in a rush, since it's messier and closer together than usual. Jean imagines Marco folding his borrowed blanket, and writing out a quick message on whatever he found first. Maybe he paused only to make sure he hadn't woken Jean up, and then just fled the house without a second glance. It's oddly winding, like a punch to the gut. Like it's a goodbye, he recognizes, and immediately wishes he hadn't. The permanence that lingers in his mind is agony. He knows, just as well as he knows the lyrics to Dream On by Aerosmith, that neither of them plan on simply ending an eight year old friendship over this, of all things. And yet it looms over him, foreboding. He can't shake it. So he'll assess it later.  
'I need to think for awhile.-M' Marco confirms what Jean already understood. Both of them are at a loss for what to do.  
Jean sighs, and discards the note on the floor, rubbing his eyes wearily. It's such a clusterfuck of mixed emotions, he doesn't know where to start. 

So he never does, burying it deep under less difficult thoughts. He avoids everything Marco, as well as he can. It's monumentally difficult, since he's got Marco's clothes scattered everywhere, and pictures of Marco scattered amongst various family members, and the first thing out of his mother's mouth is,   
"Where's Marco? He's usually up before you." She's dressed in her uniform, coffee cup in hand.   
Jean responds, with little difficulty,  
"He had a thing to go to really early. He's gonna be gone for a little while." Casually, he opens the fridge, pretending to eye the contents critically, as per usual.   
"That's funny, Marta didn't say anything." His mom comments. Marco's mom is the receptionist at the police station; they know each other well.  
"Something with his dad." Jean covers quickly, figuring that would buy him some time.   
"Oh, alright. I've got to head out, love you." she replies distractedly, looking at her watch. She pats him on the back in passing, setting her mug in the sink, and is out of the door in the blink of an eye.  
"Love you too!" He calls quickly, relieved. Luck is on his side, as she's running a little late this morning. 

Jean takes Peaches for a walk, goes to work, mows the lawn, and makes dinner for himself, all without a certain constant presence at his side. He makes sure to do all the activities he can that he does alone anyways, falling into familiar monotony. It's a welcome distraction, something he can fall into without thought. It's not as though they're always together anyways, they spend plenty of time apart. They can usually go weeks without contact, physical or otherwise, and come back together just as easily. 

There's no reason why this can't be the same thing, Jean thinks briskly as he finishes the lawn. He pats his face with his shirt idly, feeling a little better than this morning. Certainly less fatal. Standing up straight, he's a little startled to see one of the neighborhood girls examining him with interest, sitting on her porch a house down. She can't be much younger than him, a year or two, and Jean notes that yes, he isn't actually wearing a shirt, is he? It's tossed over his shoulder, where he doesn't really remember putting it, as it's a force of habit. Confused, he looks down at himself. Really, he's not very impressive, the faintest definition of muscle present only when he's flexing. But she's still staring at him, like he's a piece of meat. It's a little funny, and he might even feel like preening over it, yet he can't really be anything other than apathetic. 

It's a little scary, the stark uncaring with which he views her attention. He generally likes being admired in any situation, soaks up praise and attention even if they embarrass him, especially if they're from someone attractive. The girl is pretty, maybe not his exact type, but in her own right, which he can respect. Feeling appreciated is nice, and he's not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. But he just doesn’t feel much up to humoring anyone. He’s probably just tired. He didn’t sleep well, too preoccupied to really catch much rest. It wasn’t entirely about Marco, though that’s what it began with. The whole idea opened up some existential crisis he was putting off, and he's just made a mess of himself. 

In the end, maybe it was inevitable. This awkward period of unsureness, before some sort of conclusion. He's fairly sure of how it will go, but he pushes the thought out of his mind. There is nothing he can do but wait for Marco to be ready. He heaves a great sigh, and heads to the medicine cabinet for relief, suspecting that sitting tight is easier said than done.


	2. interventions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's always liked her. just never the right way. whatever that is.

Jean's not sure how long it's been, not exactly. More than forever, less than a month, since he's seen Marco. He doesn't think about it too hard, anyways. Ignoring the issue works, in a way. He feels a little like he's just watching the wide chasm between them grow, but, he can't really think of anything to say. Nothing that would be remotely helpful, anyways. He'd only make it worse by being blunt, like instinct tells him to do. Even broaching the subject sounds like a mistake, and also critically unavoidable. They probably aren't broken, but they're definitely bent. Though maybe the suffocating discomfort isn't all that new, not for Marco. He knows how it's like to be infatuated with the oblivious, all too aware of how it can wear on a person, even someone like Marco. Also how much worse it gets when you don't know how they feel about it.

Though Jean would tell him immediately, if he had that information. He knows that it shouldn't matter. Has told himself this over and over. But it does, it matters to him, and he can't bring himself to suppress it. He doesn't know what it means for them, or why it even means anything, anyways. His head is all jumbled up, and his stomach flips anxiously when he thinks about it. Honestly, the fact that he wouldn't even know if Marco hadn't slipped up is the only thing he's really sure about. That, he's sure, irritates him. He can't believe he didn't notice at least something, anything. It makes him want to punch himself. He feels like the biggest twat ever, and like he can't even fathom meeting Marco's eyes ever again. But he will. For his own sanity, since that's come under fire too, and probably for good reason, considering he hasn't left the house except for work in a month. It's taken the gratuitous force of one Sausha Braus to get him here today.

His head is in Sasha's lap, her hand in his hair. Her thighs are a good pillow, especially he hasn't been sleeping well lately. It's comfortable, arguably too comfortable for having broken up maybe a few weeks ago, after dating for a good nine months. They were always more suited for friendship, and it always showed. He doesn't regret it, even though he was broken up with in the first place. She's running her fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp idly. She knows he likes that. He knows she only does it when she's trying to get something. It's a little after two, and they're laying around her house.  
"You're not complaining." Sasha says, after a long moment.  
"Mmh."  
"Not gonna entertain me, huh?"  
"Nope."  
"You should know that's why we keep you around." A pause, thoughts gathering in his head, condensing at the cusps of his teeth.  
"I'm not a dancing monkey."  
"Have you seen yourself drunk?"  
"You and I both know I'm a blackout drunk. Plus I can't see myself anyways."  
"Still, you've heard stories."  
"About myself? Well...yeah," he admits, and then starts to wonder if he has a drinking problem. He disregards it almost immediately. It's not important.  
"Like this one time you came on to some girl Eren was into and he tackled you into Krista's pool. Or the time you climbed on the top of Reiner's house shirtless and yelled 'fuck the police'. Oh and the time you tried to buy eight pies from the 24 hour store with a half empty pack of gum, you’re lucky Bert was there to save your dumb ass, by the way. Ooh or the time you took Marco outside and you didn't come back for like two hours, so everyone thought you were banging or fighting, but you were just crying in his hair."  
"Psh, I'd never fight Marco. It's like trying to punch a puppy. I'm an asshole but not that big of an asshole."  
"But you'd bang him, of course." She points out, irritatingly enough. It's true, in a way, but unpleasantly so.  
"Dude, he's a dude." Jean replies before he can think about that too hard.  
"Tch. So? I'm sure you and Marco would make passionate love. Full homo."  
"Half homo, with a bag over his head, and you have yourself a deal." Or just in the dark, Jean adds silently.  
"Where is Marco, anyways? I've seen him around, but not with you."  
"I dunno. He does what he wants." Jean shrugs halfheartedly and sits up. He feels a little loopy.  
"He's usually with you, though," she persists, and Jean shrugs. He looks over at her Xbox, and remembers why he came. Not having Marco around also means only shitty Wii games are available to him. Sasha is excellent at bargaining.  
"Let's play Street Fighter."  
"But I suck at it."  
"Exactly."  
"WWE? Please? I have '12."  
"Cage match?"  
"Of course."  
"I'm gonna kick your ass."  
"Good luck, dickmuncher."  
"I'm the asspounder, thank you very much."  
"In your dreams, little dick."  
"You and I both know I am packing a monster." A wavering silence passes over them. Sasha’s eyebrows shoot up. Maybe not perfectly comfortable, he amends, but close enough, as it dissipates like smoke.  
"Like Maurice,"  
"...from Little Monsters?"  
"Yep."  
"...I thought we were friends."  
"We were, until you showed me that nightmare."  
"Who put piss in my apple juice?"  
"Connie says that all the time now."  
"I know." Both of them shudder. Jean has always liked her, (though perhaps not in the way he’s supposed to), and he'd be lying if he said he doesn't now, but it's clear Connie makes her happier than he could. It's usually how his relationships end, him unable to invest himself very much in them. Who can blame him, though? It's only high school. Nothing is permanent, not here. Teenagers are definitely the most unstable people, always changing faces and opinions. In fact, the only constant in his social life up to this point is Marco, which is unfortunate. 

Jean is generally surprised by how much he misses Marco, when they're separated. It catches him off guard, always does. He doesn't really notice it when he's consciously not thinking about it, but lately the loneliness seeps into his skin even when he's surrounded by people, because none of them are right. They're all not the person he wants, and therefore are fundamentally wrong. He can't fill his own silence, not anymore. His head feels empty, like endless white noise. It's different than how he's ever missed anyone before, even Marco himself. The instability of their friendship is new, too.  
All he really wants is his friend back.

Sasha beats him, 2-1, at WWE '12. He grumbles about it a little, and she teases him.  
"How does it feel to suck at life?"  
"How does it feel to suck my dick?"  
"You wound me, Jean. I was just asking you a very legitimate question."  
"And that's my answer."  
"So vaguely uncomfortable and mildly disappointing?"  
"Basically,"  
"Not even going to defend the honor of your Johnson, huh? So savage was your defeat."  
"I will never recover from Macho Man Randy Savage." He replies, falling back onto her bed. She takes the opportunity to poke his stomach.  
"You seem a little down."  
"Nah, 'm fine."  
"No way, you haven't even come on to me this whole time."  
"I made dick jokes?"  
"Not the same thing!"  
"I'm sorry I'm not sexually harassing you anymore?"  
"You've never said that before either!"  
"You act like I'm the biggest prick ever."  
"Because you are!"  
"Thanks for that. Really helped my self-esteem."  
"You're the most womanizing asshole ever."  
"Really makes me question your taste in guys."  
"I could say the same thing." Her face flushes suddenly, eyes surprised.  
"Wait, what?"  
"Okay, don't flip out on me," she hugs her knees to her chest, "but do you have a thing for Marco?" if he were more perceptive, he'd notice that it's probably been on her mind this whole time. As it has been for nine months.  
"No, I'm not into dudes, Sash. That's actually kind of gross. Why?" He keeps his voice level, a looks her straight in the eye. She looks at him dubiously.  
"Are you absolutely sure about that? You talk about him all the time. And I know you haven't been talking lately."  
"Not all the time. And so?" He crosses his arms.  
"John," She says, irritated.  
_"Jean,"_  
"Jean," She says it like jeen.  
"I'm being totally honest."  
"Did you have a fight?"  
"No."  
"Your sulk is through the roof. You can't tell me nothing is going on. You get all mopey when he isn't paying attention to you."  
"Nothing is going on. I told you it isn't about Marco. How do you even know that?"  
"Everyone knows that. Do you know where Marco is right now?"  
"Nope." Even though he does. It's not hard to keep up with someone who updates their Facebook constantly.  
"Well, you will." She stands up abruptly, plucking her car keys off her dresser. He reluctantly follows, as she tugs at his arm. Holding him from the bicep, she pulls him out of her house.  
"This seems unnecessary."  
"It is completely necessary. You've just been moping around and hiding in your room."  
"I'm in your house right now."  
"Only because your mom kicked you out. Because you've turned into a hermit."  
"She did not kick me out. And I'm not a hermit. I just didn't feel like doing anything."  
"That was pathetic, you're not even trying anymore." she sighs, waving goodbye to her dad in the kitchen. Jean dares a peek at the man, who is substantially friendlier towards him since he stopped dating his daughter. Mr. Braus' only half grimace is promising. 

"I think this is considered officially crashing." He protests, as he is dragged to the Jaeger household. Some of their mutual nerd friends get together on the weekend to play chess and various board games. And now Marco has joined their ranks. Jean wishes he could make that up. He's deeply ashamed of Marco.  
"They invited me." She says impatiently, ringing the doorbell.  
"No way. Where are the beer kegs? The college guys smoking outside? What of the shitty country music you can hear from a block away? What will you do with yourself without slutty dudes trying to lick your neck?"  
"Shut up, dickmuncher. It's fun."  
"I think you're confusing fun for brain melting boredom that of which the common man have never known."  
"I think you're confusing the rotten mango in your skull for a brain." She bites back, just as the door opens, and Armin is silently raising an eyebrow. He lets them in without a word, though Jean knows there are questions rattling behind inquisitive blue eyes.

They're in the livingroom, the two people playing sitting on the ground, chessboard laid across the coffee table. Marco is sitting in the loveseat, eyes flicking up and then back down quickly. Comically, he blinks, and then looks up slowly, taking Jean in. Bert and Mikasa are mid chess game, both zeroed in on the board. Armin quickly crosses the room and sits beside Marco. It's odd, seeing Armin move so purposefully, to know that its a tactic against him. As if he would try that, Jean thinks bitterly. Marco looks terrified, fidgeting aggressively and surreptitiously glancing at the exits. He knows better than to corner him, or confront him.

Marco looks like he hasn't been sleeping. There are dark, dark circles under his eyes. He also has had a haircut, which he was sorely in need of. Jean traces the lines of his body with his eyes, familiarizing himself with what was already imprinted in his mind. Dark hair, broad shoulders, the Sesame Street t-shirt Marco is fond of, but keeps buried in the back of his closet for emergency use only. At this angle, most of his face is visible, a spray of freckles, embellished by the sun he's obviously been getting. Jean wonders what he's been up to, a wholly foreign thought. For the first time in a long, long time, Marco is a complete enigma. He isn't sending long winded text messages about his going abouts, prodding Jean about his own, coaxing Jean into doing things with him. He's always acknowledged that Marco is the driving force behind him having a social life. It's just _so_ utterly odd for that to change.

He feels so unwelcome. So much so, after a few minutes of Armin and Sasha nervously chatting, he stands up and mutters something about pissing, and hauls ass to the kitchen, which is connected, theoretically, to the bathroom. Figuring no one is going to look for him, he exits out onto the porch instead. He wishes he'd had the foresight to bring cigarettes or something, just on principle. Leaning on the fence lining the area, he stares out into the backyard, brooding. Sure, he didn't exactly expect to be greeted with open arms. Yet, he can't help but feel incredibly out of place. 

Someone opens the door. He doesn't turn around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love prewritten chapters.


	3. new resolutions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> he will get through this. somehow, anyways.

"Hi." He doesn't have to turn around to know who it is.  
"Hey."  
"How are you holding up?"  
"All things considered, alright."  
"At least one of you is bad at lying."  
"I'm not lying."  
"Yes you are, there's no point in beating around the bush." momentary quiet, and then,  
"I guess."  
"They're worried about him."  
"I know."  
"Maybe they're even worried about you."  
"Doubt it."  
"I'm worried."  
"Don't go all girly on me now, Armin. I know you look like one, but at least try."  
"I am. You can be a dick about it, but even Eren is asking questions."  
"So you're saying Jaeger is into me? It's flattering but I'll have to decline." Jean can feel his disapproving glance. Armin's leaning on the supporting beam, opposite of him.  
"The part that bothers me is I don't know what happened." He says, after a long moment of silence. Jean doesn't respond, staring hard at the grass.   
"Neither of you are talking. It's bizarre."  
"You're tellin' me."  
"I think you've got to do something, though."  
"What about Marco?"  
"You know he won't. He's probably convinced himself by now that it's all his fault. Which I don't think it was."  
"And how do you know _that?_ "  
Immediately after, he adds,  
"You're right, damn it, but how?"  
"I thought so. Anyways, it's awkward in there with you. You should probably leave." Armin says thoughtfully, and Jean snorts,  
"You don't think I know that? I'm probably the last person he wants to see, he's probably so _embarrassed_ even though it's so _stupid_ that he feels weird. He shouldn't. That's definitely my fault."  
"Jean,"  
"Yeah?"   
"Did Marco come out to you?"  
“Come out to me?”  
“Oh- I didn’t. I didn't know. I thought for sure he would've told you.”  
“Told me what?” even though Jean is totally aware of what that is. He has a sick feeling this is how he would've found out otherwise. If marco hadn't had slipped he'd have learned it from someone else. Probably by accident as well.  
“Oh uh… I didn't think I'd be wrong honestly, all the signs seemed to point to it...”  
“Armin?”  
“I miscalculated I don’t have a clue what-”  
“You didnt. You were right.”  
“I don't know how I'm going to- wait what?”  
“He did. Thats what this is about. He came out to me on accident and I'm pretty sure he’s got a crush on me and its all fucked up. There, I said it. Now can you please just go back inside? I'd really rather not have some sort of pavlovian discussion of my sexuality.”  
“Did you mean Kinsey or Freud because as far as I know Pavlov was a physiologist.”   
“Armin, it would be great if you could just like, leave.”   
“Uh...yeah. Right. You’re right. For now.”  
“For now.” Jean echoes, also not turning to see Armin leave. He knew, and somewhere in the back of his mind Jean feels vaguely upset. He really, really hates the position he’d put them in because he just had to be a stupid, naive thirteen year old who watched one too many gay pornos. 

He leaves after about ten minutes of sulking around outside, in the warm summer air. He is determined to make amends. He doesn’t know when, doesn’t know how, but he will. Somehow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this whole thing was basically just build up and that awkward part in the middle of the action. whoops. more to come. hopefully it wont take as long as i dunno, an entire year

**Author's Note:**

> so, like a year later ive decided to continue this though my vigor for this fandom has calmed considerably.


End file.
